


small hours

by lisbethsalamanders



Series: you anchor me [1]
Category: Halt and Catch Fire
Genre: Angst, F/F, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Late Nights, POV Donna, and crushes on coworkers, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9650639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisbethsalamanders/pseuds/lisbethsalamanders
Summary: This is where her mind is clearest. When the streets outside are still and she can watch the gears in Cameron’s head turn.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livelyandcolorful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelyandcolorful/gifts).



> A little oneshot set mid-season 2.

The red of the clock on the mantle glows 3:07 in her periphery. She cracks her knuckles one by one, heaving a deep breath and rolling her shoulders. The silence of the house is palpable in the hours past two and before eight, when the boys have exhausted themselves and passed out in their various corners.

She relishes the quiet. The girls are musical and Gordon always has something to rant about when she’s at home and while that can be nice, this is where her mind is clearest. When the streets outside are still and she can watch the gears in Cameron’s head turn.

She won’t put a name to it. It’s been there for some time, hiding beneath the frustration and exhaustion, and only in these quietest of moments does she let it come out to breathe. 

Cameron is so many things to her now. A partner, a source of endless irritation, a confidante,, a creative force, a good friend. But this unnamed thing churns beneath the surface of them all.

The first time she experienced Cameron’s coding was a quiet revelation. This kid, this scraggly loudmouth whose workspace was filled with empty pizza boxes and cans of orange soda, wrote more beautiful systems than she could imagine. She theorizes the seed was planted then. Well, in these moments when she lets herself theorize. 

The thing is a weed. She covers it, deprives it of sunlight, never waters it, and still it grows. It’s been created out of details and memories. Big ones, like Cameron asking her to work at Mutiny, the trip to Comdex, the community they’ve created together. But the tiny particulars stick like thorns, never leaving her in peace.

The mole on the left side of her stomach that Donna can see when she lifts her arms. Her fingers that curl into claws when she’s stuck on a line of code. Her laugh, the loudest and most infectious in a house full of men. How she won’t meet Donna’s eyes in the rare moments she brings up her father. The way she listens to and stands up for Donna’s ideas at the most surprising times. Those green eyes like tornado skies that plead with her on occasion to come to the arcade, have fun, try and beat her high score on Space Invaders. Her huge, stupid lips, always cracked near the point of bleeding in winter. 

Those are the things that, after 3AM on a Wednesday when Cameron is staring wide-eyed at her screen, two pointer fingers moving fleetly across the keyboard and the faintest hint of music reaching across the room from her headphones, Donna ponders. She won’t act on them, absolutely not. It’s not like she’ll cheat on her husband and after all this isn’t the first time she’s been in a knot over a woman. She blames proximity, of course. Working this closely with someone can cause confusion and maybe a little infatuation, but god if this thing isn’t persistent. The truth is she had psychoanalyzed herself for weeks and hadn’t come up with a satisfying explanation. Maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe this urge to rationally explain away her feelings was futile. Maybe the scary conclusion is just that she really, really adores Cameron. 

Cameron stands suddenly, jolting Donna from her reverie. She stretches and yawns violently, lifting her arms high and throwing her head back with the force of it. Donna turns back to her screen, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks

“Alright, I’m out.” Cameron’s voice is thick, sleepy. Donna hears her pad closer and attempts to will her heart to quiet the fuck down, good lord. “How’s your stuff going?” Cameron leans down from her considerable height to examine Donna’s screen. She can smell the licorice on Cameron’s breath, feel the heat from her skin. She’s wearing one of those raggedy t-shirts full of holes and probably found at the bottom of a bin at Goodwill that leave far too little to the imagination. 

She could kiss her like this. If she turned her head even slightly, she could kiss her. It would be easy, quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Get it out there, see what happens. She could blame it on exhaustion, delirium if Cameron balked, but if she didn’t…

But Cameron stands, rubbing her eyes. “Ugh, I can barely see anymore. I’m going to bed, see you in the morning.” And she’s gone. 

Donna’s hands shake as she presses her palms to her eyelids. The adrenaline is dissipating and she’s tired down to her bones. She can’t go home after this, not to Gordon, not to that crowded bed and those cold hallways. Instead, she finds a threadbare blanket tossed on the back of a chair and curls onto the sofa, draping it over herself. She thinks she hears Cameron’s soft snoring from the other side of the door, but she knows she’s imagining it. She closes her eyes, attempts fruitlessly to push the image of soft, sleeping Cameron from her mind, and doesn’t sleep.


End file.
